


now you know me (for your eyes only)

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F, So here we are, also general disclaimer I have never played or watched a second of LoL, anyway I wanted an excuse to overshare my ahri headcanons, k/da baybeeee, listen the mood of this fic is a mess I just put a bunch of scenes in a blender and chugged it, riot you've done it again you tricky bastards, there is literally no other reason, this is two parts simply bc I'm impatient and don't have the rest of it written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: “Eve,”Sera hisses, pale hands gripping the edge of her window like she’s liable to physically pick up Eve’s car and just chuck it to the fuckingmoonto get it out of her driveway. “What are youdoinghere? It’sfourin themorningand I haveneighborsand—”She chokes on the rest of her words, eyes going wide as she finally realizes who’s riding shotgun.“Seraphine,” Ahri greets, low and cool. She looks like an absolute phantom in the gloom—the Ghost of Popstar’s Past come to haunt a new up-and-comer.“Ahri,” says Seraphine, numb, mouth visibly on autopilot. A breeze kicks up and pulls the flaps of her coat apart, revealing what is in fact a set of Star Guardian themed pajamas, with Ahri’s own face printed across the chest, big and smiling.“Nice digs,” Eve drawls, clicking her nails against the wheel. She jerks her head at the backseat. “Get in.”Or:Ahri has a problem with Seraphine. This, of course, also makes it Eve’s problem.
Relationships: Ahri/Evelynn (League of Legends)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	now you know me (for your eyes only)

“So are you guys, like,” Akali pauses, seems to roll a few words across her tongue, settles on, _“fighting?”_

Eve scoffs, mostly as a reflex, but also to buy herself time. She’d been hoping to avoid this entire line of questioning, actually, which is why she’d stepped out of the K/DA House to get away from her bandmates in the first place—and specifically away from Kai’Sa’s all-seeing fucking _eyes_ that zero in on any vaguely negative emotion like a heat-seeking missile—but now Akali’s sprawled in her passenger seat, gnawing on a neon green smoothie straw, giving her a look so blunt it’s only a partial step down from just a straight-up _club._

“Kali, _darling,”_ she says, _drawls_ , really; the word gains several syllables and a honeyed lilt on Eve’s tongue as she tilts her head just so, shades slipping down her nose to reveal a pair of gleaming golden eyes. “Whatever makes you say _that?”_

Akali sips noisily at her smoothie, pointedly lifting an eyebrow.

Eve sighs, replaces her shades, sits back in her seat and says, “There were days when that would turn you into a puddle _,_ you know.”

“I was a _baby,”_ snarks Akali, a freshly minted twenty-four year-old and very much still resident baby. She stirs the contents of her smoothie around. “But seriously. You and Ahri? Being, like, _wicked_ fucking weird.”

Eve’s nails click against the steering wheel. Long traffic lights are truly humbling.

“Creative differences,” she deflects, purposefully bland. She tries to keep the defensiveness from showing on her face—if Akali smells blood in the water she’ll tear a bitch apart. She’s watched Ahri verbally castrate too many pushy stage directors and oily publicists to _not_ know how to sense weakness and go for the jugular.

 _“It isn’t **all** me,”_ Ahri would insist, doing the wide-eyed, innocent, _who me? I’m just a schoolgirl from Korea_ routine. _“She had a very particular upbringing, Evelynn. We only brought out what was already there.”_

Eve had arched an eyebrow so high it actually, like, strained something.

 ** _“Ahri,”_** she’d said, flat, _“you ripped out that producer’s spine with your **eyes** last week.”_

Ahri had hummed, noncommittal, examining her nails. A living fucking reaction GIF, this woman.

Akali says, “Bullshit,” as the light turns green, and Eve absolutely fucking floors it just to make her choke on her smoothie a little bit.

“Sorry, darling, were you saying something?” Eve asks, lifting her eyebrows in concern as Akali hacks like a dying bird in her passenger seat.

“I will _dump_ this in your backseat,” Akali threatens, hefting the half-drunk smoothie like a Molotov, and Eve’s eyebrows curve down.

“Interesting way to spend your cut of the quarterly Spotify check,” she says back, breezy. She makes a hairpin turn just to send Akali sprawling against the window—she should know by now that you don’t get to be a shit in the shotgun seat and get away with it.

“Stop deflecting,” snarks Akali, peeling herself off the passenger window. She’s taken to thinking the mandatory therapy sessions Ahri had to literally bully her into attending have rendered her the resident expert on emotional conflict and the human psyche. Eve rolls her eyes. “You guys are _definitely_ fighting.”

Ahri and Eve _are_ fighting.

Sort of.

It’s all very _complicated:_ they’re complicated, their relationship is complicated, their jobs are complicated.

And also, like—Ahri’s being a goddamn lunatic, but Eve has the good sense not to mention that.

“Ahri doesn’t like Sera,” Akali guesses, an insight granted to her on account of her having fucking _eyes_. It’s impossible to miss the cold looks Ahri has been sending K/DA’s latest guest—even the press had started noticing their resident queen’s slow slide into that of an _ice_ variety, which is what prompted the fight Akali’s angling after in the first place.

“Ahri doesn’t like a lot of things,” offers Eve, unhelpful, and Akali rolls her eyes so big and dramatically her whole head lolls with the movement and it’s a miracle she doesn’t break her fucking neck.

Eve says, “Don’t roll your eyes,” because they’ve been training her out of the habit ever since her stint with True Damage, and if she falls back into it just because she was being nosy about personal shit, Eve’s going to lose it. She still hasn’t figured out if Akali picked it up from Qiayana or Yasuo but either are likely culprits and Eve’s shit list is big enough for both.

Akali just slurps loudly at the remains of her smoothie, because she’s a shit, and Eve is absolutely committing this entire exchange to memory the next time Akali insists she’s not the baby of the group.

“If Ahri didn’t like Seraphine,” Eve says, “then Seraphine wouldn’t be within a thousand miles of K/DA House.” Honestly, Ahri’s found ways to get people who rub her the wrong way booted out of Korea entirely. Her cold shoulders end careers. Eve gives Akali a _look._ “Sera has her own room there. Surely you’re capable of running those numbers.”

Akali rolls her eyes again, and Eve clocks it but doesn’t comment. She hasn’t decided if Akali is actually back in the habit or just doing it because she knows it drives them fucking batty.

“I know we all like to act like Ahri’s the queen of her own dumb universe,” Akali drawls, unbothered, like Ahri _isn’t_ the queen on her own dumb universe, which is so factually incorrect Eve almost laughs _._ “But she has to suck it up and deal with shit for the good of the group sometimes too.”

Eve blinks behind her sunglasses. _Oh._

Once upon a time, Eve could make Akali blush just with a click of her nail tips. But once upon a time before _that,_ Eve could make anyone in the industry cower the same way. The Evelynn of “Agony’s Embrace” and “Ecstasy” was a menace—cruel for the sake of it; ruthless because she _could_ be, because no one would stop her. The danger of the industry lies not necessarily in what it turns you into, but what it allows you to become.

Eve never wants to go back to that person, never wants to _be_ that woman again, but every so often someone will make a comment—about Ahri, _always_ about Ahri, Eve’s loyalty to their self-styled Queen is the only thing that can make her show her teeth these days—that kicks over some instinct long locked away, and Eve feels her wrath rouse itself again.

It’s absurd to feel defensive in the face of Akali, of all fucking people—especially when Eve has already privately agreed that Ahri’s being dumb as _fuck_ with her Seraphine hang-up—but when Eve runs her tongue flat across her teeth, she can already taste the spite.

“Ahri gets what she wants,” says Eve, slow, dark, willing herself to bark but not _bite,_ “because she’s earned the right to do so. Wanting things a certain way doesn’t make someone selfish, Akali.”

Eve’s anger thunders for more—snarls and snaps for attention under her skin. For one dizzying moment, she feels her lips form the most horrible things, mouth bitter with the phantom taste of _do you have any idea what Ahri has already given up for this group?_ and _do you even fucking realize she puts us before everything in her life?_ and the one she can hardly even give life to, the one that haunts her even outside of arguments like this: _if you knew what Ahri had been through you’d **never** speak a word against her._

Akali stares at her from the passenger seat. Eve’s eyes don’t leave the road.

“You two are so good at hiding it,” Akali says, slow, thoughtful—Eve doesn’t turn. “I forget that you’d, like, literally fucking kill and die for each other and all that shit. Like you actually, like, _love_ each other, or whatever.”

A short eternity passes. Eve flexes her fingers on the steering wheel. She takes a breath. Then another.

“Or whatever,” Eve repeats, smooth, the fringed edge of her tone softening as her temper fades. “Kali, darling, I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but this feels very directly related to you getting shot down by that swimsuit model a few months ago.”

Akali’s face goes comically blank for five whole, uninterrupted seconds before she literally sinks, like, three feet lower into the shotgun seat, like she’s willing Eve’s car to just _swallow_ her. To be fair, if anyone’s car could, it’d be hers. Eve casts a quick sideways glance, finds her blushing something _fierce._

“What was her name?” Eve asks, high and false, only a little nasty because it’s been ages since she’s been able to tease Akali like this. “Janna, right?”

Akali hisses out, “Shut _up,”_ and Eve reflexively thumbs the lock button at the exact moment that Akali rattles her door, trying to make her escape at a stop light. They’re close enough to K/DA House that it wouldn’t be odd, but Akali would still absolutely bail even if they were halfway across town, and has in fact done exactly that the last time someone tried to press her about something personal in a confined space. Claustrophobic but, like, emotionally. _“Eve—”_

“She and Ahri were in _Star Guardians_ together,” Eve muses, as Akali decomposes in real time in her passenger seat. “I’m sure she could get you an in if you asked nicely.”

Akali puts a hand on the wheel, looks Eve dead in the eyes. “I will wreck your car to get out this conversation,” she says lowly.

 _“Relax._ God, you’re so dramatic,” Eve drawls back, putting one hand flat on Akali’s face to shove her away, careful not to take an eye out with her nail plates. “Would you rather me give you shit about it or Ahri sit you down for another long, awkward talk about _having sexual relations_ while also working in the industry—”

“That was the _worst_ fucking thing that’s ever happened to me,” Akali interrupts, sharp, still tugging pointlessly on the passenger door even as the car speeds off when the light changes. “I’m, like, fully fucking traumatized over it. I’m suing for emotional damages.”

Eve barks a laugh, hanging a sharp turn onto their street. K/DA House sits alone at the end of a long private drive, and the gate creaks when her car rolls closer, having recognized the security chip embedded in her hood.

Akali tumbles out before the car even fully stops and Eve expects her to go scampering away, but she doesn’t. Eve glances up at where she lingers at the open door.

“I didn’t mean it,” Akali blurts out, clumsy, the way she gets when she’s trying to speak before losing her nerve. She hesitates—Eve watches her bounce between the balls of her feet, clearly fighting her usual instinct of _bail bail bail_ _just fucking bail_ when it comes to anything remotely resembling genuine and heartfelt emotion. “About Ahri I—I know she’s not selfish, and I know she does, like, all kinds of shit for us that we don’t even know about.”

Eve nods, slow. “She’s not perfect,” she says, pulling her mirror down to check her eyeliner. Akali does better with these types of things when you don’t make direct eye contact with her, she’s found. “But she tries her best.”

Akali just sort of stands there, clearly unsure if she’s done enough to mend her bridges. Eve sighs, flips up the mirror, gives her a look.

“Janna loves books,” says Eve, flat, making it very clear this is a one-time favor. “Literally always fucking reading something. If you’re gonna get anywhere with her, make sure you actually _read_ the book—Janna used to run with Ahri, she can smell fear and incompetence a mile away, got it?”

Akali goes scarlet, bobs her head once, and absolutely books it. Eve doesn’t bet on seeing her for the rest of the week.

.

.

.

Ahri’s sleek white Porsche is gone when Eve pulls into the garage, which isn’t _wholly_ shocking. Ahri hates driving, a deep character flaw Eve has very graciously chosen to overlook. Eve put her behind the wheel of her vintage Jag once and it’s still to this day the only time she’s really seen her sweat.

Seraphine’s battered Volkswagen Beetle is mysteriously missing, but Eve brushes it off. She spent last night raising hell all over Seoul with Kai’Sa and Akali. Who knows where her fucking car is—Eve’s been fantasizing about totaling it for months now anyway; it’s _insulting._

K/DA House is empty, which is also normal. They’re at the point with the choreography for the “MORE” music video that Kai’Sa and their director find it more helpful to meet with them one-on-one and figure out where they need work, so group time is limited. Ahri and Eve picked up the footwork easily—they’ve been doing this for years—and while Akali keeps complaining about the steps and trying to add in her own flair, Eve knows she’s perfectly capable.

Sera, though—Sera’s been struggling.

It’s this thought that leads Eve up through the House to the studio— ** _Kai’Sa’s_** _studio,_ Ahri always playfully insists, tousling Kai’Sa’s hair while Eve adds, _Kai’Sa’s den of iniquities,_ just to make Ahri glare—and slides the door open to see what there is to see.

Not much, as it happens.

“Thought I’d find Seraphine,” says Eve, stepping past the threshold just to hear her heels echo around the studio. “But it seems instead I’ve caught a bokkie.”

Kai’Sa’s head appears between her legs as she bends down, palms flat against the floor. Her smile is bright enough to warrant the use of Eve’s sunglasses.

“No Sera here,” she answers, not even a hint of a strain in her voice despite the very parallel bend she’s currently preforming. She lifts one leg up—perfectly straight and smooth—and points her toes at the end. When Mattel gifted them with a set of Barbie dolls made in their likeness ahead of their official release, Akali had swiped Kai’Sa’s from the shelf in Ahri’s room where she’d had the set of them very elaborately displayed—not creepy at all, by the way, super normal—and bent the arms and legs in all kinds of ridiculous, back-breaking poses, and cackling when Kai’Sa fluidly mirrored every one.

It’s something Eve thinks on often.

Eve crosses the floor of the studio, watching her reflection play across the walls and walls of mirrors. Kai’Sa doesn’t have any hard rules about not bothering her while she’s working—not like Akali who can and will whip whatever sharp object happens to be closest at the head of anyone who tries to talk to her while she’s writing lyrics—but Eve rather prefers having conversations with people when they’re upright as opposed to upside-down.

Ahri, naturally, is the exception to this, as she and Eve have had all kinds of conversations in just about every position one could imagine, and the least memorable happen when they’re both properly upright.

Kai’Sa says, “I sent Sera home,” as she slowly rights herself. Eve watches in the mirror as she slides into some kind of yoga pose that is likely very difficult with very little effort. She breathes out, steady, settling in with all her weight balanced on one leg while her other is held straight out sideways, steady and parallel, arms up in the air. She really is like a doll, sometimes. “She was distracted.”

 _“Home_ home?” Eve clarifies, lifting her eyebrows. “Not K/DA House?”

“Nope,” Kai’Sa returns, calm. She brings her leg down, shakes herself loose—trademark fluidity returning—before turning herself back to stone for another pose, this one more complicated than the last. Her muscles ripple under the bright lights of the studio and Eve feels her glutes burn just watching.

“Kai’Sa,” says Eve, with forced patience. “Why would you send her out of the _House?”_ They can’t have rogue K/DA members just wandering the fucking streets—Ahri’s going to have a _fit_ over this.

Kai’Sa breathes deep, serene. Eve is somewhat pointedly reminded of all the times Kai’Sa’s tried to get her to take up yoga and meditation.

“She wasn’t happy here, Eve,” Kai’Sa says. “She _needed_ to go home.”

Eve doesn’t push, chews idly on the end of a nail plate as she tries to decide her play. Akali usually falls in line with a little fond bullying—but Kai’Sa’s far more stubborn. Little buck indeed.

“I’m sure Ahri’s mad,” Kai’Sa goes on, with the breezy indifference of someone who has never actually _seen_ Ahri mad. Eve would scoff at the threat too, if her only negative interaction with Ahri was the time Kai’Sa took a pair of her yoga pants without asking and stretched them out.

Eve works her jaw, back to staring at her reflection. Where Akali skirts K/DA’s rules for the fun of it, Kai’Sa’s rebellion is always a smoother, more practiced thing. She only acts out when she really thinks it’s warranted, and at that point—it’s too late to change her mind.

“That’s a fairly bold thing to do without telling anyone, bokkie,” Eve says, trying to temper her tone. “I can’t say I blame her.”

Kai’Sa finds her eyes in the mirror. “But you _did_ blame her. Last Friday, after the presser.” She holds Eve’s gaze. “You fought.”

Eve tilts her chin up, lets her shades catch the light and gleam back where they’re perched on her head. Everyone’s out to test her patience today, huh?

“That,” says Eve, with audibly less restraint, “is none of your fucking _business,_ Kai’Sa.”

Eve has a stare like basilisk—true snake eyes—but Kai’Sa doesn’t blink.

Back at the very start—before K/DA was anything more than a dream in Ahri’s head and a meeting blocked out on Eve’s crowded calendar—Ahri had always had her eyes set on Kai’Sa. She’d been following her twirling, trendsetting steps all the way from her debut as principal dancer at Joburg Ballet up to her influence in helping Kpop groups craft their signature choreography.

She’d been so one-minded in her goal to recruit her, Eve—who, admittedly, expected K/DA to fold without ever having accomplished anything, because she’s apparently a fucking moron who never learns that Ahri simply _refuses_ to fail at anything—had felt herself growing… _curious_ over the root of Ahri’s apparent obsession.

 _“Should I be worried?”_ Eve had asked at one point, mostly teasing.

Ahri had arched an eyebrow, said, _“That someone’s finally going to hold you accountable for learning choreography? Probably.”_

Eve wonders if anyone really understands that Ahri is a fan of the girls before she’s anything remotely approaching a manager or coach. She thinks it’s gone over Akali’s head—though Eve has plenty of footage of Ahri humming along to her viral rap hits long before they ever met tucked away for a rainy day—but she thought Kai’Sa had a better understanding.

Ahri is _attracted_ to talent: it’s why she made her bed with Eve, it’s what drove her to pull out all the stops recruiting Kai’Sa, it’s how she picked Akali out of a _sea_ of online performers, knowing—without a _doubt_ —she’d chosen the only diamond of the bunch.

Ahri’s inner circle is a spread of the finest, rawest talent in the industry—and Sera’s no different.

Eve twitches on instinct when Kai’Sa links their arms, neatly capturing her hand and twining their fingers all while crowding into Eve’s space. She rests her head on Eve’s shoulder—an unusual feat achieved by Eve’s tolerance for high heels and Kai’Sa’s penchant for going barefoot.

“Too close, bokkie,” Eve warns, as Kai’Sa pointedly snuggles closer.

“I can get closer,” says Kai’Sa—and _that_ is a threat if Eve’s ever heard one.

They just sort of stand there idly, Eve soaking up Kai’Sa’s body heat while Kai’Sa traces aimless shapes with her thumb on the back of Eve’s hand. Eve had known, cognitively, that she’d _miss_ Akali and Kai’Sa—she gives them shit like she’s paid to do it, but she’d burn a house down for those two just as fast as she would for Ahri—but she hadn’t been prepared for the tactile hole they’d leave behind. Ahri, in a rare display of mercy, had declined to remark on how _clingy—_ even mentally Eve cringes at the word—their Diva became over K/DA’s hiatus.

“I _trust_ Ahri,” Kai’Sa tells her, earnest, hand warm where she holds Eve’s. “You know that. But she’s really losing herself to this…this _grudge,_ or whatever it is. She’s not being herself.”

Eve flexes her fingers from within Kai’Sa’s grip. Kai’Sa squeezes back.

“It’s hard to see Ahri upset,” Kai’Sa says, soft. “But it’s hard to see Sera upset too.”

“I know,” Eve murmurs to her. Seraphine’s a sweet girl—bursting with talent and personality. She reminds Eve of a younger Ahri, in a lot of ways, though Eve is in no rush to make the comparison to Ahri, as she rather likes her head in its current, attached state.

Kai’Sa presses her cheek against Eve’s shoulder. “You’ll talk to her, right?”

Eve heaves a theatrical, put-upon sigh. “If I must,” she says, long-suffering, and Kai’Sa smirks against her skin.

“Don’t let her charm her way out of it,” she warns, and Eve scoffs, pulling away to push her hair out of her eyes and make for the door.

“As if she could,” drawls Eve, and Kai’Sa outright laughs. Eve doesn’t correct her: it was a pretty good joke.

.

.

.

The set is so _much—_ Eve almost laughs.

She loves it though, truly, because it has Ahri’s fingerprints all over it. Eve fulfills her role as K/DA’s Diva as well as anyone could ask her—dramatic poses, daring fashion, moody hooks and suggestive lyrics. It’s a second skin for her, but it’s all Ahri’s design. She knows which way to turn a diamond to get the brightest shine.

Eve passes through the throne room, taking a moment to appreciate the increate gold flooring, the elaborate crystal walls. And the throne itself, of course—like Eve could fucking miss it. The first thing Ahri had told the team back at the very start of production for “MORE” was _we have two years of waiting to make up for._ And fuck if the Fox doesn’t always deliver.

She hears the sharp _click_ of absurdly expensive flats—₩700,000 for the most mundane, boring ballet shoes known to man, and she gets on Akali’s case about spending habits, _honestly—_ from the next room over, and smoothly crosses the floor to find the golden, glittering throne room give way to a dark, gloomy space housing an array of marble statues and one lone Queen.

Ahri cuts quite a figure, silhouetted against the room’s single light source as she is—when she was younger, Eve remembers her flirty, flouncy skirts, billowing bell sleeves, princess cuts every which way. It’s all gone, now: traded for some smart tunic that sheathes her body like the dagger it is

“Akali sent me a text today,” says Ahri, calm. She reaches up, runs her fingertips across the lips of the nearest statue. Eve watches, rapt. “Something about being sorry for not appreciating all that I do?”

Eve hums, making her way slowly though the scattering of statues, scraping her nails lightly along the stone as she passes just to raise a shrill hiss. Ahri’s ears twitch, but she doesn’t turn.

Ahri hums back, distracted but—Eve knows—still fully aware of where Eve lurks in her periphery. She stands up on tiptoe, apparently having noticed some kind of blemish on the statue’s full, marble cheek, likely visible only to her.

“Who knows why Akali does anything she does?” Eve calls, lazy, voice resonating oddly across the various stone bodies strewn around them. She taps out a slow rhythm against the nearest one, watching as Ahri tilts her head just slightly towards the sound.

“Historically, you,” Ahri answers. She’s still preoccupied with some apparent flaw in the statue she’s inspecting as Eve skulks around behind her, careful to stay outside her field of view. Tension coils around them, hangs low like a fog—Eve knows Ahri’s bothered just as well as Ahri know Eve’s the same. Eventually, someone’s going to have to strike a match, but this is the first time Eve’s had Ahri alone in days. It can wait.

Ahri continues her inspection—if left alone, Eve knows she could literally do this all day. She’s watched her do exactly that, actually, and learned early on in their arrangement that when Ahri texts her late at night to look over some aspect of their latest project, it isn’t a veiled invitation for anything fun—Ahri is in fact earnestly asking her to help choose between near-identical fabric swatches.

 _Sometimes_ Eve can shift the scheduled events to something more her taste, of course, but it depends on the project, how close the deadline is, how much work still needs to be done, and—as always—how far in her own head Ahri happens to be, and how far she’ll let Eve coax her out.

Sometimes they really do just sleep, and it’s the only rest Ahri’s gotten all week, but those days happen less and less—Eve’s come across Akali and Kai’Sa sprawled on the couch, sharing snacks far outside their diet plan with Ahri passed out between them, some bad K-Drama playing on the TV.

 _“They put her right to sleep,”_ Kai’Sa had explained, innocent under Eve’s questioning stare.

 _“It’s ‘cause they’re so fuckin’ bad,”_ Akali put in, even as she watched— _rapt_ —absolutely enthralled by the scene playing out on screen.

Back on set, Eve says, “You know, we have people who double-check these things for us,” as she drapes herself across the front of the statue Ahri’s posted before, reaching up to wrap her arms around its marble neck. “But I think we could still have some fun in here.”

Ahri arches an eyebrow high—god, Eve wants to shake the hand of the stylist who convinced her to try blue eyes; she’ll throw a parade in their honor, she doesn’t care—the corner of her mouth pulling up just slightly.

“You fantasize about the most ridiculous things,” she murmurs. They’re too close for polite society, but Ahri doesn’t move, doesn’t shift—doesn’t maintain that quiet, constant, agreed-upon distance that keeps them apart in front of cameras and crowds. It’s somehow more suggestive than the way Eve’s splayed out across the statue. “Please explain to me what about a huge, cold room full of stone excites you.”

Eve’s hands twitch where she holds them laced at the statue’s nape. “The part where I’m with you.”

Ahri finally— _finally—_ shifts her gaze to take in the Siren trying so hard to catch her eye. She smiles, then: slow and bright and real.

“Hello, Evelynn,” she says.

 _“Ahri,”_ Eve says back, playfully breathless. She makes a show of writhing against the stone and Ahri huffs out a laugh, smile softening to something that really _does_ uneven Eve’s breathing.

They just watch each other, for a moment—being caught in Ahri’s gaze is always a shock to the system, even after all this time. Her full attention carries so much intensity, Eve feels exposed beneath it—raw, bleeding. Eve knows she can accomplish the same thing if given a stage and a mic and at least one fog machine, but even here, alone in this graveyard of ruined marble with nothing but her own charm—Ahri holds Eve in the palm of her hand.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Ahri murmurs, still tellingly close.

“Oh, sorry, did you hear me?” Eve asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m drafting working titles for the tell-all memoir I’m going to write when I’m old and washed up that’s all about what a fucking _tease_ you are.”

Ahri shows her teeth for one quick, sharp grin before she turns to leave.

“The public will never believe you,” she calls over her shoulder, and Eve has to blink a few times, reacquainting herself with how it feels to be alive without being shackled under Ahri’s stare. “And I’d sue you for libel, assuming I am also old and washed up in this timeline.”

There’s no version of reality where Ahri washes up—it’s a frankly hilarious notion.

“Kali will take my side,” Eve drawls, following Ahri out of the shadowed marble set and back into the grandeur of the throne room, heels clicking all the while. “Kai’Sa will probably be a monk out in the mountains by that point.”

Ahri briefly thumbs through her phone—Eve is fully aware she’s only getting a third of her attention right now, but considering the topic, she’s amazed she’s wrestled any—before saying, “Akali fell off the bike Ducati sent us to stage in the music video during a rehearsal and nearly broke her wrist after assuring us all she knew exactly what she was doing.” Ahri flicks her phone off, stowing it back in her pocket to raise her gaze to Eve’s. “You’re more than welcome to take her legal counsel under advisement in this future where we’re apparently clinging to relevance with lawsuits.”

Eve leans against a pillar, watching as Ahri circles around to inspect its twin just a few paces away. “I _did_ warn you she had no idea what she was doing,” she drawls. “But you _insisted—”_

Ahri leans around the pillar to shoot her an annoyed look. Eve smirks back.

“I always try to give them as much creative freedom as I can, Evelynn,” says Ahri, firm. Eve’s heard this spiel a hundred times. _“Especially_ when I know they’ll fail, because—”

“—because what’s most important is that they understand that failure isn’t the end,” Eve finishes, making sure to draw out each syllable as obnoxiously as she can. She meets Ahri’s frown with an arched brow. “I _do_ listen when you talk, dearest.”

Ahri rolls her eyes, good natured, and Eve honestly considers—for one, short second—just leaving it there. She can’t, of course, and she knows well enough by now that loving Ahri doesn’t mean just _giving_ her everything she wants without question—it means challenging her, testing her, keeping her sharp and clear-eyed and sure.

Eve’s been pushing Ahri since the moment they met. She’s not about to stop now.

“The girls are worried about Seraphine,” Eve says, idly inspecting her nails. She doesn’t even bother clocking Ahri’s expression—it’s too early for her to show her true colors. Eve’s masks have always been a casual afterthought. Ahri clings to hers even in private.

Ahri’s flats click as she slowly circles the pillar. Eve cannot for the life of her understand what it is she’s looking for but she’s certain she’ll find it.

“Problem?” Ahri asks, and Eve’s ears prick at the slight chill. Subtle, but Eve’s professional and personal lives hinge on the sounds Ahri makes. She can hear it.

“Kai’Sa says she’s having trouble focusing,” says Eve. She watches the light play across her nail plates. Ahri keeps pacing.

“Seraphine is a newcomer to the industry,” she replies—another fresh layer of snow dusts her words. “She can’t be expected to have the discipline of a seasoned performer.”

Eve hums in vague agreement, finally dropping her hands. She’s got patience in spades when it comes to games with Ahri, but this dance is getting old.

“Kai’Sa sent her home today,” says Eve, blunt. “Says she thought she needed a break from K/DA House.”

The rhythmic click of Ahri’s shoes stops. Eve glances up just enough to watch her feet still.

Ahri says, “It’s not Kai’Sa’s place to make a call like that,” and ice clings to her words now, fully formed, spreading farther and farther—each syllable a stretch of frozen lake.

“Kai’Sa didn’t want to discuss it with you,” Eve continues, finally dragging her eyes up the rest of Ahri’s body. More cracks are showing—locked knees, stiff shoulders, high chin. She won’t look at Eve, but Eve doesn’t think she’s really looking at the pillar anymore. She doesn’t think she ever was. “After our fight last Friday—”

 _“Fight?”_ Ahri protests, turning sharply. Eve lifts an eyebrow. “Who says we fought?”

Eve considers it. “Everyone.”

Ahri scoffs—ugly, and low in her throat. Eve waits for more. She’s disappointed.

 _“Ahri,”_ Eve says, sighs—she _hates_ this; hates pulling Ahri’s teeth as much as Ahri hates them being pulled. They’ve always fallen into synch so seamlessly, it’s an awkward tangle to set things right again on the rare occasions where they’re out of step. “Come on—what the fuck is it with Sera?”

“There is _nothing_ with Seraphine,” Ahri says back shortly. Her expression is absolute stone—it’s a miracle it isn’t covered in claw marks for how fiercely she clings to it. “If she has a problem, she is more than welcome to—”

“Oh, fuck _off,”_ Eve snaps, pushing herself off the pillar. Ahri’s eyes flash to hers—overbright and wild with the promise of a fight, but still her mask holds. It’s eerie and lifeless and cold and Eve wants to fucking _shatter_ it. “Seraphine is welcome to take it up with _you?_ The biggest fucking name in K-pop? How are you going to sit there and lecture Akali about power dynamics and still expect a girl who had _posters_ of you on her wall to be up front and honest with you!”

Ahri’s ears are flat against her skull. Eve presses harder.

“We _knew_ she was a fan of yours, Ahri! The first fucking _five_ tracks on her cover album were _your songs!”_ Eve throws her arms wide. “The whole reason she’s here is because of _you!”_

“Who I _was,”_ Ahri hushes out—too fast, too low.

Eve’s nails draw blood where she has them curled into fists. “What fucking _difference—”_

“I _hated_ that person!” Ahri shouts and finally—fucking _finally—_ they’re getting somewhere. “Evelynn, I spent _years_ building myself back up to be someone who the industry would respect! That scared, weak, _stupid_ little girl who was chewed up and spit out— _that’s_ the person Seraphine admires! _That’s_ who she’s looking up to!”

Eve’s lips pull back in a wince. Nothing stings like the slap of hearing Ahri talk about herself.

Silence hangs. Eve watches Ahri’s reflection move across the crystal walls—her profile shatters at every facet, pacing.

“I have spent the last decade of my _life_ trying to _erase_ that version of me,” Ahri seethes—she’s always so cold—frigid and unyielding, _bloodless—_ that it’s startling to remember how _hot_ she really runs—to be confronted with the Ahri who lives beneath the crown. Not a queen, but a _dragon—_ something with fangs, with teeth, with claws—something that rips and tears and shreds all with fire leaking out of every crack in the armor she’s meticulously built around herself.

Not a queen or a dragon at all, then. Maybe she’s just a whole castle all on her own—strategically defendable, impossible to breach, grand and beautiful but built to weather wars.

Eve says, “I know,” because she does. She was there.

Ahri curses, low, under her breath. Eve watches her turn away, gives her a moment.

“You can’t fault her for admiring you, Ahri,” says Eve, quiet, firm.

“I don’t _fault_ her for anything,” Ahri retorts, and there’s still something snarling in her tone—her shoulder blades stand out likes knives at her back. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s a reminder of all those things I’ve moved past!”

Eve sets her teeth. She can’t understand why Ahri’s making this a fight—can’t see past all that fire and armor to what hurt she’s trying so desperately to cover up.

“Ahri, every fucking girl in _Korea_ wants to be you!” Eve argues. “You’re never going to get away from who you were—I’m _never_ going to get away from who _I_ was, and the things I did! But I still sign “Agony’s Embrace” records, don’t I? I still pose with people who wear my outfit from that music video, I still sing that hook when fans ask for it!”

“This isn’t _about_ any of that!” Ahri’s tone is switchblade sharp. “Evelynn, I don’t _care_ about the songs, or the outfits, or the—”

Eve catches her wrist— _hard_ —pulls Ahri up short, forces her back around, tugs her closer until they’re trapped in each other’s space. Ahri’s hand settles at Eve’s hip for balance, jaw set. Eve doesn’t give her an inch—she can see the reflection of her shades in Ahri’s eyes.

“Then what _is_ it?” Eve asks, low, fierce, _angry—_ her temper hisses like a snake, coils between them. She has venom in spades, but no target to poison. Ahri tries to pull away but Eve holds fast—vicelike. “Ahri, you have to fucking _talk_ to me.”

Ahri’s eyes flash, and Eve can see the moment when she considers digging her heels in—for one split-second, Eve sees the same face she’s watched Ahri give upstart producers, overly-familiar label execs, and underhanded directors—and then it passes, shutters, and when Eve blinks again, she just sees the only woman she’d ever call a Queen.

“Because she could be more,” Ahri says, soft, low. All her ire smoothly folds, but Ahri doesn’t slump with the loss—she isn’t held up by her anger, doesn’t draw strength from it the way she does her pride or ambition. Neither of them are forthcoming with affection—Ahri still resists showing her hand, Eve still mixes too much poison with her pleasure—but Eve has always freely admired Ahri, particularly at moments like this: no matter how hot her temper flares, it never leaves a burn.

Ahri’s anger is a sight to behold, but Eve finds herself more deeply moved by Ahri’s defiance of it.

Eve lifts an eyebrow. “More?”

Ahri’s eyes on her, then—bright enough to shame a diamond’s own blue.

“Seraphine is more talented now than any of us were at her age,” Ahri says—she sounds proud; _fiercely_ so _._ “For her to look at me as some kind of _goal—”_

Eve’s never thought much about her heart—if she has one at all, it’s a small, ugly thing of no consequence—but the space where it ought to be _aches._

“How could she not?” says Eve, cutting her off. She reaches out, catches Ahri’s chin, tilts her face up to the light, to _her._ “Ahri, dearest, who _else_ would she want to be? You’re the industry standard— _you’re_ the blueprint. Anyone who wants to be anything has no _choice_ but to follow you.”

Ahri doesn’t answer—just lifts her hand up to gently tuck a few straw hairs behind Eve’s ear, letting her touch drag, linger.

“Only because you showed me how,” says Ahri, soft. Eve allows her lips to curve on a smirk.

“I know I have a reputation for greed, but in this case I _do_ feel like I’ve been warmly rewarded for my services,” Eve answers.

She lets the moment hang—allows herself to detox, allows Ahri carefully rearrange her face until it’s fixed exactly as she wants it—then she tweaks Ahri’s chin just to be a shit before releasing her, clicking her nail plates as she turns away to saunter back towards the throne. She can feel Ahri’s eyes on her—so hot it sends a chill down her spine.

Eve twists, drops, falls with artful disarray back onto the seat, fully lounging and milking the visual for all it’s worth and more.

Ahri stands tall—all hard lines, sharp edges. A queen surveying her kingdom. Eve lifts a brow.

“This seat taken?” she asks, tilting her head. She traces a nail across a golden crack in the armrest, purposefully teasing. “Hm? Your _Majesty?”_

She’s angling for a rise, but Ahri’s expression doesn’t twitch. The mask seems to have snapped back into place, and Eve takes a breath, preparing to heave herself out of the chair and do some more emotional excavation work when Ahri takes a step, laying a hand on her wrist—stilling her.

Eve’s pulse jumps under her touch. “Ahri?”

Slowly, smoothly, Ahri sinks down, mindful of the hem of her tunic, to kneel at the front of the throne, folding her arms across Eve’s lap and settling her head there, letting out a sigh.

_Oh._

Eve waits a moment, then another—listening to Ahri’s breathing even out. She’s warm and flush against Eve’s lap, and Eve watches her ring wink in the light where her hand’s nestled in the crook of her elbow.

“You weren’t weak, _Gumiho,”_ Eve murmurs. She runs her fingers through Ahri’s hair—lets the tips of her nail plates scrape along just to make her shiver. “Being young and trusting isn’t a weakness.”

Ahri says, “It _is,”_ even as she melts into Eve’s touch. “I should’ve—”

Eve hushes her, softly—a rare thing—and Ahri actually quiets—even rarer.

“I can hardly get a word out of you on a good day,” Eve mutters. “And then suddenly the conversation turns to your alleged _faults_ and you won’t fucking shut up. Very irritating, just so you know.”

Ahri huffs a humorless laugh. “I feel like I’m fairly talkative when we’re going over your missed deadlines,” she says, soft, teasing—Eve twists her ear for her trouble, but grins all the same.

The silence lulls back, as Eve just gingerly runs her hands over every inch of Ahri she can reach. She lets her gaze play over the throne room, marveling—as always—how one person can give so much of themselves over and over and over again, and yet always _still_ have more to give.

As Ahri’s business partner and co-creator, Eve is quietly impressed.

As Ahri’s lover—and a selfish one at that—Eve wishes she could break every single stage Ahri's ever stood upon, just to show her she doesn't need to be everyone's guiding star every moment of her life.

“If you get hurt,” Ahri murmurs, voice muffled against Eve’s thigh, startling her out of her thoughts, “it’s because you’re weak.”

“If you get hurt,” Eve counters, because this is an old, old argument—one they’ve had long before they shared song royalties or a bed or even phone numbers—“it’s because someone wanted to hurt you.”

Ahri makes a soft noise of disagreement. Eve rolls her eyes.

“Then why do you work so hard to protect the girls?” she asks, trailing her fingers down Ahri’s arms—idle touch is a bad habit, but Eve thinks they’ve earned this one. “Let’s live in the terrible world of your logic, for a moment: shouldn’t they be expected to protect themselves? If they get hurt, it’s their own fault, right? Is that what you’re saying?”

 _“No,”_ Ahri exhales on a hiss as Eve drags her nails down her spine. “Evelynn, you _know—”_

“You’re so hard on yourself,” Eve tells her, exactly as she did when Ahri first stumbled backstage after one of Eve’s shows the first time they met. She’d found it funny, then—a young, pale, slip of a girl with a ruthless ferocity she only ever turned on herself. Now it makes her stomach turn. “Do you think I love you out of _charity,_ dearest?”

Another sigh. Eve’s digging too deep—deeper than they need to go at this exact moment, anyway—but it’s so rare she can strip Ahri bare like this, she decides to make the most of it. So Eve leans down, lips at Ahri’s ear, one hand slipping lower, lower, _lower—_ until she feels Ahri’s breath still in her chest, waiting, _anticipating_ —

“Do you know what I think?” Eve whispers, low, velvet. She hooks a finger in the collar of Ahri’s tunic, pulls her closer still.

“What?” Ahri says back, hardly breathing, every inch of her pulled taut—

“I think,” Eve murmurs, lifting her head to speak against Ahri’s curved fox ear, watching a shudder wrack her spine in response. “That your knees are going to hurt so _fucking_ badly in the morning.”

There’s one full beat of silence.

“Oh my _god.”_ Ahri is up on her feet in an instant, shoving herself upright and stalking away from the throne with contempt rolling off of her in actual fucking waves, and Eve almost falls over she’s laughing so hard.

“You were giving me shit about wanting to fuck with the statues!” Eve calls after her. She climbs to her feet, long strides quickly overtaking Ahri as she slips an arm around her waist, pulling her close to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “That was deserved and you _know_ it.”

“I hope the statues still appeal to you,” Ahri hisses back, as Eve lets her hand slip lower, pulling playfully at her tail. “They’re all you’re going to have to warm your bed for a fucking _month.”_

Eve nips at her ear. It’s hot when Ahri swears and she knows it, the fucking tease.

“This set needs christening,” she murmurs, pulling Ahri back flush against her even as she tries to bat Eve’s hands away. “I remember seeing a grand piano in the plans.”

“Do _not_ even think about the grand piano,” Ahri tells her sternly. “That’s part of Kai’Sa’s set, which you would _know_ if you had actually _read_ the plan—”

Eve heaves a sigh, truly tortured. _“Fine._ I suppose all we have left is the throne.”

“We are _not—”_ Ahri’s blushing now, Eve can officially count this as a success.

“Fine, fine,” Eve releases her, but Ahri doesn’t go far—it’s part of their game, Eve’s learned over the years. The harder she pulls, the less ground she gains; but the moment she stops trying, Ahri will fit herself neatly into her side.

“Oh?” Ahri asks, dry, thumbing through her phone again now that she’s apparently satisfied Eve isn’t going to debauch any part of their very expensive set. “Another idea?”

"I'm _full_ of ideas," Eve murmurs back. "Let's take a ride."

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiii k/da own my ass this isn’t news. ahri/eve specifically owns my ass which is kind of news because the last time I wrote k/da I like, still was kinda shy about shipping Gorls™ but fuck that it’s wlw city now y’all
> 
> it’s been a while since I’ve written anything like, properly dramatic, so I might have overplayed my hand at some parts but so it goes. I just wanted to have fun while writing it and I did and the image of Sera wearing Star Guardian pajamas is the funniest thing I’ve ever thought of me @ me you’ve peaked
> 
> second part will be up in a few days. I'm a slave to instant gratification I simply dk what to tell you
> 
> I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/reduxwriter) where I post WIPs, cut scenes, and talk about my fic. you can always drop me a line there if you want. I kinda wanna write something where the girls retain their in-game powers while being popstars and it’s like a sailor moon/avengers/hannah montanna sort of sitch but we’ll see if that happens bc full disclosure I am fully in the clutches of the pkmn dlc and it’s frankly a miracle I pulled myself away from hatching wooloo eggs long enough to write this
> 
> take care of yourselves, and have a good day <3 
> 
> ~~YES the title is one direction lyrics NO I will not apologize THANK YOU~~


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